The Impossible Man
by ggmaxwell
Summary: Sherlock was sitting at home, bored, when a stranger enters his home with out him noticing. The man wants information, but Sherlock is more upset by his own inability to figure him out. Based off a post on


Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, he unfortunately belongs to his creators, and those using his image and personality in their T.V. programs. That being said, I also am sadly lacking in Supernatural ownership as well. They also belong with their creators. I am purely using their name, personality and back stories for my own personal entertainment, and hopefully the entertainment for others. Though I will not be getting paid for my efforts. And i will say it again, I am not getting paid for this piece of fanfiction.

This story is brought to you by a post I saw on tumblr about Sherlock attempting to deduce Castiel.

ONE SHOT.

Characters: Sherlock, Castiel,

Title: The Impossible Man

The Impossible Man

Sherlock Holmes was lying face down on his couch, bored, in his flat in 221B Baker Street. His experiments where currently on stand-by, while he waited for the appropriate amount of time to pass, for the meat on the counter to decay. This is an experiment that would sadly and irritatingly take a few days. Sherlock was not bothered by the smell, more the time he had to wait. He did not have any cases as of he moment, and he couldn't be bothered to go and get one. He preferred it much better when they came to him.

That being said, he was startled to turn around and see a man standing in the middle of the living room. Intrigued, he sat up, it's not everyday some one can startle him and seek into his flat unnoticed. His eyes scanned the man from head to toe in a matter of seconds. To his frustration, he could not get a good read on the man. He was 5'11" tall, wore a suit that was obviously not tailored to him, a crisp, almost impossibly clean white shirt. He had not residue on his shoes to show where he had come from and his tie was on backwards. The long brown overcoat he was wearing showed no signs of concealed weapons, and should have made a small noise when he entered the flat. His hair was black, and judging by the style, windblown. He had evidently forgotten to shave that morning, but that did not seem possible, everything about this man was exceptionally neat, so he wouldn't forget to shave. His eyes where blue and held no lies in them. If Sherlock where to guess with just his clothes, he would say the man worked in sales of some sort. But his stance and the way he held himself made Sherlock wonder if he was not in some government defense force or something. Sherlock was ready to tell the man that his brother could come himself if he needed him for something, or even call. He didn't need to send a messenger, but somehow, Sherlock doubted this man worked for Mycroft.

Unable to draw any possible conclusions about the man, Sherlock couldn't help himself and asked..."Did you need something?" Slightly put off that the man hadn't even flinched or shuffled uncomfortably under his scrutiny, just stood still and stared right back.

"Yes." The man answered, Sherlock surprised by how deep his voice was. The man sounded like he had been gargling with gravel. Then the man continued. "You are Sherlock Holmes, am I correct?" The man asked, never taking his eyes off of Sherlock, and keeping his hands in his pockets. Sherlock doing another sweep of the man, trying to locate any weapons the man may be carrying. He, however, did not find any.

"Yes, I ask again, did you need something from me?" Sherlock asked, his frustration with the man growing the longer he could not get any kind of lock on this man's character.

"I'm looking for any knowledge you may have on a Bella Talbot, but I believe you may know her under a different name. A Mina Chandler?" The man asked. Sherlock had to admit he was intrigued. He hadn't heard that name for years.

"I have to say, I do know some about her, though I haven't heard anything about her in years, I have to ask. Why?" Sherlock said. His impression of her is that she was some woman with a slightly off view of the world. She specialized in stealing the strange objects said to have some mystical properties. Sherlock was convinced she belonged in some sort of high security asylum, not prison. She seemed to believe the things she was stealing really did have mystical powers. A bunch of Holcomb if Sherlock said so himself, it was just like religion or one of those magic shows John had dragged him to.

"She has stolen something that belongs to a friend of mine and could potentially save his life. I need to find her, and she used to live here. I believe she may be hiding here. I just need to know where." The man said, and though he was honest, and forthcoming with information, Sherlock could still not figure out if he was a thief like Mina, or a government operative from America going off book and tracking her down here. Well, he was never one to get into politics, but he felt the need to know who this man was.

"Very well, I'll tell you all places she could be hiding, but you must tell me something in return." Sherlock said, jumping up and walking across the room in nervous energy.

"I don't really have time for this." The man said, heaving a sigh and not quite but very nearly rolling his eyes.

"Don't care." Sherlock said, sitting down in his thinking chair. "What's your name?" He asked, to him names may seem trivial to remember, but he figured he'd start with that. The man gave another sigh, this one of resignation, almost as if used to dealing with disagreeable people.

"Castiel." He answered, no more.

"There anymore to that?" Sherlock asked the man now labeled as Castiel.

"No." The man answered, voice controlled and even, as it talking to a child that was getting on his nerves.

"I'm sure." Sherlock said disbelievingly. "Who are you working for. Your stance suggests that you work in some sort of secret service or law enforcement, but your clothes and you unshaven face show that you are a family man who probably works in sales and is very unhappy with it. You can only be one or the other, and I want to know."

Castiel continued to stare at Sherlock, his face a complete blank as Sherlock stated what he could find of the man in front of himself. "I work for myself. Doing what I wish, and right now I wish to help my friend. Mr. Holmes, I need the information I have come for."

"Ah, but that's not all is it. Your clothes, they don't fit properly do they. The suit would undoubtedly be issued to you if you worked in the government, and they would make sure it fit right, keep up appearances, look professional, that sort of thing. So I'm gonna assume you work in sales. But that lend the question, doesn't it. Are you working with Mina herself, and you've just been split up, or are you going to try to make a deal with her, because you trade in the same artifacts. But no, I don't quite think so. Your too honest. Your clothes also give away that you have a child, there on you leg, the material is slightly rubbed off a bit more then the rest. Yes the pants are old, so they're probably a great deal older now aren't they, but you're still wearing them, which means your number of suits are limited. Your ring finger on your left hand shows that you where married, I say where because you've taken it off, but the skin is still paler there then the rest. She's not dead, you would still be wearing the ring, sentiment. But you have taken it off, there for lending to the idea that you left her. So you where having problems. Divorce? Where you getting tired of having to keep secrets from her. You certainly seem comfortable in that suit. You've been wearing it for awhile. And your child, how long has it been since they've seen you? Years probably. Got into something you couldn't handle?" Sherlock continued to go on, deducing what he could of this strange man that was in his home. But instead of looking guilty or even angry, the man continued to stare blankly. He seemed to be unflappable. This was making Sherlock both even more interested, and angry. The only other person that has been able to stump him like this was the Adler Woman, and that did not bode well with him.

"If you are quite finished, while your observations of my vessel are impressive, I'm here for possible hiding places of Mina Chandler, if you can't provide them I will have to go somewhere else." Castiel stated, not sounding at all put off, just impatient.

"WHAT ARE YOU?" Sherlock screamed. Getting more and more irritated by his inability to get under this man's skin like he had so many before.

"I'm an Angel." Castiel answered, face completely straight. That made Sherlock stop short and turn around from his pacing to look the man in the face. He smiled.

"No your not." He said matter-of-factly.

"I am. Now Mr. Holmes, I've answered your questions, I've been more then patient with you. I need the information you have, or I'm afraid I'm gonna have to kill you." Castiel said, Sherlock hearing in his voice that he has infact pushed the man to the end of the proverbial rope. Deciding that he shouldn't push him anymore, because with the ease of which he made his threat, and the fact that Sherlock was certain he wasn't carrying any weapons, but somehow he was now holding a small sword. Sherlock was sure this was someone you might actually be able to carry through with it.

"Very well." Sherlock said, sitting down at his desk and writing on a small piece of paper every possible address he knew Mina to hide in. "There you go. I hope that proves to be of help. Though I highly doubt it, she is a slippery one, I chased her all over Britain for years before she went to America." The man took the paper from Sherlocks hand and read all that he had written there.

"Thank you." The man said, though Sherlock was sure he did not actually hear any gratitude in his voice.

"If you do find her, tell her I said 'Hello'. Then maybe you two can walk off together to Bedlam, talking about your ghost and spirits, and vampires, and demons and whatnot." Sherlock said, turning to see the face of the man he had just insulted, but the man was no longer there, in fact there was no trace of him ever being there. Feeling put off, he knelt down to the carpet in hopes of collecting some skin and hair samples from the carpet, only to not find any. The man had not touched anything while here, so there was no way of him getting any finger prints either. Pity, he was really hoping to get some DNA so that he would know who he was if he ever showed up in anything again.

It was a week later that Sherlock learned, to his bewilderment, that Mina Chandler, or Bella Talbot, as 'Castiel' had called her had died of a wild animal attack in America three and a half years ago.

Well there you have it. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
